As the train sways he brushes up against her almost by accident. He apologizes and she shrugs. Images of her body close to him flash through his mind quickly, passing like the lights in the tunnel. The crowded L presses them, pushing them back and forth willingly. They part ways at the same stop. Opposite directions. Stealing backwards glances.

He exits towards the moonlight, and turns to the corner to pick up a bottle and smokes. Leaves. Walks the five blocks to his apartment. His apartment is quiet and empty. He pours a drink. Lights a smoke. He turns the record player on, and takes a deep inhale before closing his eyes. She’s smiling at him. Her hips are swaying back and forth, her fingers motioning for him to come. Motioning for him to come.

The club is awash pitch black occasionally fractured by neon hiccuping strobes. Everyone looks staccato and the same. She sees him through the crowd. Up above. Godlike, on a balcony, posted up against the railing. Drink in hand, his boys at either side. She is almost overcome by something visceral. They make eye contact and move wordlessly. Sound tumbles around them. As she cuts through the shapeless mass he loses sight of her for a moment. He stops. Panic sets in. He vainly sips at his empty glass. He scans the anonymous heads and darkened faces for her. Gravity descends horizontally. He can’t hear anything. He squints his eyes, trying to readjust. A familiar scent wafts across the heavy air. She slides behind him. He turns. They dance.